


The Goddess' Plight

by fangwulf



Category: Not Another D&D Podcast (Podcast)
Genre: Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-16
Updated: 2020-02-16
Packaged: 2021-02-27 21:13:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,294
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22762252
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fangwulf/pseuds/fangwulf
Summary: As the realm of Bahumia is destroyed by Thiala, the world shattering, a young Paladin who had lost his God prays to the others.  But why do they not listen?
Comments: 2
Kudos: 12





	The Goddess' Plight

The world was going to Hell, quite literally. Lydia had closed the portal to Shadowfell. Of course she had. The Realm would be safe. As safe as Shadowfell ever was. 

Her realm was safe. It was one of the very few that would be.

As the Duskmother floated over, her dark hand spread over the creatures rising from the ashes. Her children. The Sinners. The prayers of the eternally damned touching her ears. It was all she focused on. The Repentance was the key. 

"I know you can hear me."

This was not the prayers of tiny folk. The mortal plane of Bahumia being destroyed was not her concern. The dead, the Damned, would come to her. No. No, that was not a voice of the prayer. It was clearer. Much clearer. Much more haughty. Not many could get through the barriers. Not many would dare. 

"Lady of Chaos." Her voice, which so few heard. A quiet, threatening whisper. Harsh, terrifying, but somewhat comforting in ones' time of need. A voice for any sort of repentance one needed. 

"Duskmother, unlike you." The clip of hooves that left behind sprouting wildflowers behind her, even in this dark place, sounded behind her. The veiled Goddess did not turn. Did not look to face her fellow Goddess. She knew what she would see. The torrential rain would summon the flowers for her. It gave even her strength. "I prefer my name."

"Melora, then." The hooded woman nodded, then. Her face completely concealed. Shadowed eyes flicking back. One would think she did not see the other Goddess. "Your realm is the mortal plane. Go back there. Or shall I Banish you there?"

"I hear the screams of my people. I know you do too." Her voice was echoing. Speaking so casually, as if Melora hadn't heard the threat itself. Or perhaps she didn't care. "You have the boy's father."

"And when the boy dies," her whispered voice hissed, the hood turning to Melora. "He will come to me as well. He has much to atone for."

"I know you hear him. You hear him praying. In the water. On my realm." Again, the Nature Goddess merely walked around. Casually looking at the dark, stone walls. The chambers of punishment. 

"That is not your concern." Her voice was echoing, cold. That voice, however. It was clear. She heard. And she shook under her cloak.

"He will die. My Realm is breaking. Nature is distorted by this false Goddess." Melora's hands run over the cavernous wall, vines starting to grow out of the cracks and crevices. "Do you honestly think your Queen shutting down the entrance will stop her?"  
There was no response from beneath the cloak. Chaos embodied continued, then. "Queen Cyrilla did not stand a chance against her. The Autumn court is protected slightly, as it is hidden. But they are getting close. Your monsters-"

"They are not monsters," the Duskmother, in all of her glory, her voice a hiss that sent cold steam shuffling over the Goddess. Even Melora, in her infinite indifference, widened her eyes as the path of flowers she was leaving shriveled behind her, wilting to the wrath of the Goddess of Light and Death.

One hoofbeat stopped. The silence was briefly palpable, before Melora nodded. Bowing her antlered head elegantly. "My mistake. The Children of your Realm." The hood relented, before the deer woman continued. "Will not be safe. Lydia is strong. She is not a Goddess. She will eventually fail. And she will take your Heart as a Goddess of light. And mine. Until there is nothing left."

That voice. The voice of the boy. Calling out to her in the crashing waves. "You hear him." Now, Melora whispered. 

"I hear both of them," the cloaked Goddess said quietly. "The Cleric is praying to me as well. They both pray."

"Then HELP them," Melora almost growled, a savage sound. The clap of power as her deerlike head swung to the side. Holding up a hand as if fighting. Something. Her eyes going heady, vague, staring through the veil into oblivion. The Goddess of the Wild fell to her knees. In this dark place of retribution.  
That voice. The hood shaking slightly, as a bony hand reached out from under the cloak towards the other Goddess. A quiet. Steady calm. As the offered hand was shoved away. And then a different voice. A male voice. Equally quiet. 

"Please."

A simple, croaked word from the older halfling man. Beaten down. Taking his punishment for heresy. It was clear, he was not strong here. He had been so strong. That halfling, falling to one knee. And lowering his head. His eyes were tired. His hands, shaking. Not a day had gone by that he had stepped out of his punishment chamber. His voice croaked with his dry throat. "Please help my boy." His pleas were like a different sort of prayer. A selfless one. Like the voice of the young Cleric. Praying for a life that was not his own.

Her bony fingers reached down. Away from the Goddess, fighting her own battle, her pupils gone. Her eyes entirely white, staring into nothing as she swung her arms like she was fighting the very ocean. For a moment. A single moment, that hooded figure shivered once more. That one bony hand reached up and pulled her hood down. The Mother of Light and Death stared out from one vacant eyesocket, the other a glowing ball of fire. Her head swiveled between them. The prostrating halfling who had everything to lose, the backsliding of his punishment, and the Goddess fighting the very ocean she had controlled for so long for dominion over her plane of existence.

She sighed, sending a cold, exhaled breath over the plain. "I cannot do much," she whispered, sounding almost apologetic in turn. "I can give him enough. Just enough to survive this. But I cannot save them both."

"Save one," Melora's voice echoed, almost chanting, as if it came from so many places. "And you will save both."

"If I give more, I risk her. The False Goddess. Finding her way down to this plane. I cannot risk any more." Her other hand. Flesh and bone, whole, wavered. Raised to the ceiling of the cavernous dwelling. Her one eye glowed brighter, as if focusing. The light escaped her. A slow, methodical floating orb twisting, burrowing its way through the ground, as if escaping from a grave. Her wings spread, releasing her power to the mortal plane.

The halfling man's shoulders shake. "Thank you. Thank you."

"Do not thank me yet, Beverly Toegold the fourth," she murmured, watching the path of the orb, as it vanished out of sight. "Your son still has to go the rest of the way. His pain is not over. You well know that. Now he must make his own choices." 

The halfling raised to his feet. Shakily. He nodded, and started to walk back to his chamber. Her bright, glowing eye focused on him, as she drew up the hood of her cloak once more, glancing over to Melora. This time. She offered her flesh covered hand. The light. To not just a fellow Goddess. But a friend. "I pray," she whispered. "Your faith is well put."

"Why shouldn't it be?" The Embodiment of Chaos finally took the hand, standing. "His definitely is. As I have faith in my child. And her trust of that one." She let out a small laugh. A weakened one, a tired and almost sad sound, as she faded from the realm of Shadowfell to return to the mortal plane.

The hood lowered slightly, only that glowing eye visible in the darkness behind it. "I hope, sister, that you are right."


End file.
